by Jan Constant
‘ ‘Julian dear, ’ ’ she said. “I think we should have used two carriages—there is very little room to spare, and you know how particular Miss Plantagenet is. She will not like being cramped.”
“Nonsense, Aunt,” replied Sir Julian robustly. “Elvira and Emma are both as slim as reeds, and Miss Plantagenet is no prize fighter. To take two carriages would merely have added to the traffic congestion outside the theater. We are much better as we are.”
The travel arrangements did not entirely please their guest, who did not hide her lack of enthusiasm as Sir Julian handed her into the vehicle.
“Oh—I see we are all here,” she murmured. “I had expected two carriages. I am to sit with the girls, to be sure— no, Lady Beauvale, do not move. I can manage quite well, I promise you.”
Diana Beauvale, who had made no move, looked quite startled at the newcomer’s suggestion.
“Pray be still, Lady Beauvale,” put in Sir Julian quietly. “Miss Plantagenet would not dream of accepting your place, were you to offer it. She has too much sense of what is due to a lady of your age and rank. ”
Elvira nudged Emma with a sharp elbow while, after an initial pause, Jane Plantagenet made a show of high-minded agreement and settled herself beside the younger women. For the rest of the journey, which Emma would have preferred to spend gazing at the passing traffic and crowded, brightly lit streets and houses, she made polite conversation, somehow conveying that her good breeding prevented her from being “put out.”
All the occupants of the landau were glad when their destination was reached and the carriage stopped outside the bright entrance to the Theater Royal. Here all was hustle and bustle, people were ascending the steps, while carriages arrived in a queue at the entrance. Sir Julian managed things with his usual aplomb, and his party was whisked up the winding, red-painted staircase and quickly found themselves in a box.
Emma had almost forgotten the heady smell of the theater and sniffed ecstatically at the scent of burning candles, greasepaint, and wet clothing.
“Phaw, what a fug!” exclaimed Elvira, forgetting to be ladylike in her distaste.
“One must forget one’s sensibilities, dear Miss Leyton, in the cause of intellectual achievement,” observed Miss Plantagenet soulfully.
Both girls gazed at her silently, unable to think of a suitable reply, and it was left to Julian Leyton to step into the breech and arrange the seating.
“Of course, Miss Beringer must have the best seat,” agreed the paragon, as if giving up her position. ‘ ‘In a family I believe that a birthday counts above rank, do not you, Sir Julian?”
She spoke playfully, but the others in the party did not 164
smile, even Sir Julian appeared somewhat irritated by his intended’s self-consequence.
“What a wretch,” Elvira whispered in Emma’s ear, “and what possessed her to choose such a color?”
Indeed the brilliant shade of mustard yellow, while fashionable, did little for Jane Plantagenet’s sallow skin and nothing at all for her sandy hair. However, she gave every sign of being well-pleased with her appearance, nodding graciously to acquaintances, fanning herself languidly, and smiling in a restrained, genteel manner at Sir Julian’s conversation.
The ladies had been too taken up with the excitement of their arrival to notice the play-board, and it was not until the auditorium lights had been snuffed out and the curtain up for several minutes that the precise nature of the play dawned upon Miss Plantagenet. Emma heard a stifled exclamation as Edmund Kean declared that now was the winter of his discontent and was aware of the yellow-covered shoulders stiffening into a rigid attitude. Studiously ignoring her companions, she gazed as if entranced at the stage, allowing nothing to draw away her attention, while Lady Beauvale and Elvira exchanged rapid whispers behind the cover of their fans.
Emma found the great actor as enthralling and his stage presence even more exciting than she had expected. Rapidly, she found herself engrossed in the play, her whole attention fixed on the stage and the magnetic personality of Edmund Kean as he portrayed the hunch-backed King Richard in so evil a manner that he was heartily hissed by the audience.
The curtains fell on the first act, and, as the candles were relit, Emma blinked and shook herself, as if awakening from a dream.
“Oh . . . was not that marvelous?” she cried ecstatically. “Surely you enjoyed it, Elvira.”
‘ ‘ W-ell, ’ ’ murmured her friend doubtfully. “I may have— but the paragon most decidedly did not!”
Emma had almost forgotten her ploy and glanced at the other girl in some surprise before recalling her intentions, the very moment Jane Plantagenet declared her wish to go home.
“Oh, surely not!” Emma exclaimed. “I chose the play especially, Miss Plantagenet, knowing both how you enjoy culture and that the subject would interest you—you have told us all so many times of your ancestry. And after all, it cannot be often that two old antagonists meet in their descendants! ’ ’
Miss Plantagenet had risen, prior to leaving, but Emma’s words caught her attention, and, frowning, she turned to the younger girl.
“Antagonists,” she repeated. “What do you mean?”
‘ ‘Why—that your and Sir Julian’s ancestors met on Bosworth Field. Surely you know the story?”
Jane Plantagenet’s eyes widened, and her nostrils flared, giving her the appearance of a startled horse. ‘ ‘What story?” she snapped.
“It’s an old tale ... so long ago that it hardly matters, except to people like you, Miss Plantagenet,” Emma told her mendaciously, conscious of the listening silence of the other occupants of the box. “After all, it happened more than three hundred years ago, so what can it—”
“Miss Beringer, I insist that you make clear to what you are alluding,” cried Miss Plantagenet, remembering her grammar even in her extremity.
Sir Julian had returned from his errand to retrieve his amour’s cloak in time to hear the last exchange and now stepped forward. “I imagine she is referring to the legend that my ancestor was the means of unseating King Richard, ’ ’ he said as Jane Plantagenet gazed at him in undisguised horror.
Tottering back, she fell into her recently vacated chair, moaning faintly, with every sign of one who had received a fatal blow.
“To think ... to hear such news,” she cried in distraught
tones. “To allow me to hear in such a fashion—Sir Julian, how could you?”
Julian Leyton looked down at her. “I thought it no such great thing,” he said, and sealed his fate with one sentence.
Miss Plantagenet struck a pose, one hand to her forehead, shielding her closed eyes. “No great thing?” she repeated in an anguished voice. “Sir Julian—how can you be so lacking in sensibility? When we have spent so many hours talking about my lineage? Discussing the convolutions of my pedigree?”
“You are mistaken, Miss Plantagenet, you talked and discussed. Doubtless you will remember that I was given very little opportunity of doing either. ”
Behind her, Emma felt rather than heard Lady Beauvale catch her breath.
“I believe that the first Sir Thomas Leyton was knighted by Henry Tudor,” she said, adding this promising tinder to the conversation.
Miss Plantagenet drew herself up to her full height, angry red patches flaming in her cheeks. “Is this true?” she demanded in awful tones.
Sir Julian eyed her inscrutably. ‘ ‘That Harry Tudor dubbed Sir Tom?” he asked, with a lift of one eyebrow. “Yes—on the field of battle, for services rendered. I’ve always been rather proud of it.”
“Sir Julian, I am shocked, ’’ proclaimed Jane Plantagenet. ‘ ‘I find that I have been sadly mistaken in your character. Far from being the superior man I thought, you are a Philistine. She gazed at Sir Julian with loathing before, turning to her hostess, she announced that she had a headache and wished to be escorted home.
Julian Leyton bowed and assured her of his service, settling her cloak about her thin shoul
ders with all the gallantry of a courtier.
‘ ‘I hope they don’t make up on the way, ’ ’ observed Elvira, not bothering to hide her satisfaction as the box door closed behind them.
“ ‘Pon my word, I do not call that nice behavior,” declared Lady Beauvale’s mild tones. “If I believed for one minute, Emma, that you managed the whole affair, I would be seriously displeased. . . . However, I will admit that I think it is for the best. Jane Plantagenet and my dearest Julian would not have done. Someone more interested in the modem world would be more suitable for him. Oh dear! ’ ’ she exclaimed, struck by a sudden thought. “Now he is a free man once more, he will be the object of all the matchmaking mamas again, and that will not please him. Life can be so difficult. I daresay he will take himself off to the country, and I do so like having a man around.”
However, the next morning a note from a country solicitor arrived which threw the household into confusion, pushing the affair of Miss Plantagenet to the back of everyone’s mind and relieving Emma from any lingering fear she had that Sir Julian intended seeking her out to read her a scold over her unfortunate choice of play.
Not long after breakfast, she was called to Lady Beauvale’s sitting room and found the lady and her nephew awaiting her, looking very grave.
“My dear, pray sit down,” began Diana Beauvale kindly. “I am afraid we have bad news for you. Your great aunt has died. This letter is from her man of business.”
“Oh, poor Aunt Hodge!” exclaimed Emma, taking the chair Sir Julian held for her, unbidden tears springing to her eyes. “I hardly knew her—but she was my only k-kin.” “The lawyer says she was found in her bower and seemed just to have fallen asleep,” put in Sir Julian, seeming to understand her wish that the old woman had not suffered. “Mrs. Hodge had just finished weeding a flower bed, and the housekeeper had taken out a tray of tea.”
“I’m glad she was not ill. . . . But I wish I could have seen her again.” Emma sounded unconsciously desolate,
and Julian Leyton placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘‘What happens now? ’ ’ she asked. “Do I attend the funeral? Forgive me, but I do not know how to go on. I’ve never been an heiress before. ”
Sir Julian patted her shoulder. “I shall represent you. It would not do for a young lady to attend. ”
“You are quite right, Julian. I feel it would be most improper for Emma even to host the funeral meats. As her guardian, you can act in her place—”
“Dear Aunt Di, you forget that I am no longer in that happy position.”
For a moment Lady Beauvale looked nonplussed, before furrowing her brow in thought. “You can be her representative,” she announced triumphantly.
“If Miss Beringer so wishes,” said Sir Julian gravely, a question showing clearly in the look he bestowed upon Emma.
“I would be grateful,” she said frankly.
Lady Beauvale nodded approvingly. “Very sensible, my dear,” she murmured.
“The only funerals which I have known have been military affairs, and, of course, those were very different from civilian ones, apart from being arranged by the army.”
“Surely you did not attend?” exclaimed her ladyship, quite shocked by the idea.
“No—we females watched from behind the window shutters.”
“So you would have me drive down to Hampshire? I daresay Mrs. Hodge’s man of business will be there. There will be much to attend to and papers for you to sign. ’ ’
“Of course I am sorry that your aunt is dead, Emma, but is it not exciting to be an heiress?” cried Elvira, when acquainted with the news.
“I hardly know,” admitted her friend. “So far there has been little difference.”
“You will be the object of fortune hunters,” declared the younger girl enthusiastically. “Every man with his pockets to let will immediately set about wooing you!’’
And indeed, Mr. Frobisher was heard to declare on his way to answer the front door for the umpteenth time that if that dratted door knocker did not give over, then he would give notice, see if he did not. The drawing room mantle piece was decorated with condolence cards, and Emma found herself inundated with posies and nosegays from all manner of people.
“Who is Cecil Marmaduke?” she asked, examining the card attached to a somber arrangement of purple flowers and laurel leaves.
“The most awful old fogie,” supplied Elvira. “He must be at least forty and lives with his mama, who spends her time cosseting his health between looking out for a meek wife, who will bring a goodly fortune, while taking second place to her mama-in-law. ’ ’
“I think it rather ill mannered to send me flowers when we have never met,” observed Emma, discarding the bouquet and going to look out across the garden.
Her simple black mourning dress flattered her fair coloring, making her hair appear more golden and her skin resemble the pale translucence of a pearl. Bathed in a shaft of sunlight, she was totally unaware of the effect created and stared at her friend in surprise when Elvira admitted to envy.
“What do you mean, Elvira?” she asked.
“It is not fair! Not only are you an heiress to an unspecified sum and your hair naturally golden—but black, which is usually the most fatal color to wear, actually suits you! It is not fair!” she repeated bitterly, making Emma laugh.
“Oh, Elvira, you are not exactly poor, and you are the prettiest girl I know,” she told her.
“Yes,” agreed the other, “but I look a positive fright in black!”
Emma laughed again but quickly became sober. “I— really do not know how to go on,” she said unhappily. “It
would have been so much easier if I had been an heiress from birth—or not one at all! I was quite used to the idea of being poor, indeed I hardly noticed it, and was resigned to becoming a governess. Now, all is changed and I feel. . . disturbed and cannot be easy.”
“As to that, you may be assured that Aunt Diana will have a care for you and tell you how to go about things. She is dependable and well-versed in such matters. For all Jane Plantagenet’s show of knowledge, Aunt Diana, with her quiet manner, is far better able to set you right. She has no pretentions, you know.”
“I know. I am foolish to worry over trifles, but I have this feeling that life will never be as easy again. ’ ’
“You have no need to worry, we will all take care of you, Ju, Aunt Diana, and I,” Elvira assured her robustly.
Smiling, Emma allowed herself to be comforted but privately still felt ill at ease. To her heightened imagination it seemed that the whole world knew of her changed circumstances and that she was the object of concern and gossip. Even a trip to the library was fraught with tension and supposed stares, and when, the day after Sir Julian arrived home from Hodge Hall, he escorted her to the London office of her aunt’s lawyers, she felt almost ill with nerves.
“Bear up, kitten,” he said as he handed her into the carriage, apparently aware of her turmoil of feelings.
“Everything is different,” she told him miserably. “All my life I’ve been on the move—first at various boarding schools, then with Papa. ... I enjoyed following the drum, but since living here with you, I’ve discovered that stability and security can be enjoyable, too. And now I’m an heiress with responsibilities—everyone tells me to be on my guard against fortune hunters and false friends who will toady to me because of my wealth. I feel that no one will like me for myself anymore, only for what I possess!”
“You belittle yourself, my dear,” Sir Julian told her. “With your engaging personality you will always possess
true friends. I am sorry if I have lectured you overly and put you too much on your guard. Wealth always attracts the wrong kind of folk, but there are others to whom your inheritance means nothing. Do you think it will make any difference to Johnnie Gray?”
Emma shook her head, smiling faintly. “Not in the slightest,” she stated positively, but could not forebear pointing out the inordinate number of smiles and bows
they were receiving.
“That is because I am such a popular member of Society!” said her companion with such a display of complacency that she burst out laughing and felt happier than she had done since hearing of her aunt’s death.
The lawyer was a rotund man, dressed in dull black, which seemed to have acquired a patina of dust from the piles of deeds and documents which littered his room. Mr. Dun- woody had started life in Edinburgh and, after neatly forty years in London, still retained the precise accent of his youth.
“My dear lady,” he said, having read the will to Emma, “far be it from me to do more than suggest, but my advice would be to sell the Hampshire property.”
“Oh, no!” cried Emma, shocked. “I promised my aunt to look after it.”
Horace Dunwoody sighed and cast his eyes to Heaven. “The legal profession is strewn with promises, Miss Beringer—none of them worth a pennyfarthing. ”
“I daresay,” interrupted the heiress, “but I gave my word and intend to keep it.”
Mr. Dunwoody looked to Sir Julian for help. “We cannot expect a worldly head upon young shoulders, can we, Sir Julian?” he remarked. “But in this case, dear lady, allow yourself to be swayed by older and wiser heads than yours. ”
Emma shook one of the heads mentioned. “No.”
‘ ‘Pray take my advice, Miss Beringer. An offer has been made—advantageous, in the extreme, I may say—for the property.”
“Who by?” demanded Emma. “One of those old brutes who were so horrid to my aunt, I’ll be bound!”
“The offer was made by Sir Joshua Twill, I see no reason why you should not know—he is very keen upon acquiring Hodge Hall. . . .”